


Honorable Intentions

by bitchin_beskar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix It Fic, I really don't like him, No use of y/n, Robert bashing too, Stark!Reader, You're Lyanna's twin, be warned, but still, cause they kinda suck, kind of, nothing too nasty, rhaegar and lyanna bashing, seriously, sexyyyy times, there's a hella long sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchin_beskar/pseuds/bitchin_beskar
Summary: You attend the Harrenhal tourney with Lyanna, your sister. Things end up going a bit differently than expected.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Oberyn Martell/Reader, Oberyn Martell/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 276





	Honorable Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Damn. So, this started out as a fun little plot idea and then turned into this absolute monster of a piece. I promise the next thing I work on will be the next chapter in the I See Starlight Series, but this little plot bunny just would not leave me alone. So, here it is, my 14 thousand word one-shot about Oberyn... can I even call it a one-shot? I think it’s at, like, novelette length... 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

Sighing, you look out at the arena, already bored and the jousts haven’t even started. It isn’t proper for a lady to seem bored however, so you keep your face carefully blank. You glance to your right to see your sister, Lyanna, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the event. She’s always appreciated these events more than you. Lyanna favoured stories of chivalrous knights and charming princes, fantasizing being swept off her feet by the handsome man of her dreams.

You, on the other hand, tended to be more down-to-earth. Yes, you enjoyed stories of knights and princes just as much as any other lady, but you also knew that real life was rarely like the stories. You knew the likelihood of both Lyanna and yourself being married off to your father’s bannermen was high. If you were lucky, you’d be married to lords who weren’t too much older than yourselves, but there were no sureties. 

Your twin was especially excited for this particular event, you knew. Prince Rhaegar would be competing, and Lyanna was entranced by him. Ever since coming to Harrenhal, she’d watched every event he’d completed in, and in your rooms at night, she would talk for hours about him, wondering what he was like. You’d constantly tell her that the Prince was already married, to Princess Elia of Dorne, with a daughter no less, but your words fell on deaf ears. 

Neither of your elder brothers were seated with you. Brandon was recovering from the previous event, and Ned was speaking with some of the sons from Houses Karstark, Hornwood, and Mormont. So, you were left with the ladies from the noble houses of the North and your sister, all of whom were extremely excited for the joust. 

Instead of joining in with the tittering and gossip, you surveyed the arena, taking note of the other Houses present for the joust. You took note of the royals box, with Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia in attendance. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen, and from what you’ve overheard from the maids, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Princess Elia didn’t look pleased to be here, and you supposed you couldn’t blame her. All eyes would be on her if her husband lost the joust, and you didn’t envy her that pressure. 

House Lannister was also in attendance, and you saw the way Cersei Lannister surveyed the stands, much the same as you, although her countenance suggested she felt as though everyone here was beneath her. You were honestly surprised she’d come, especially after being so publicly rejected by Prince Rhaegar previously.

Your eyes skipped over a few other Houses, Baratheon, Tully, Tyrell and Greyjoy, and focused on one particular house. House Martell was seated almost directly across from you, and the box held Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn of Dorne, Princess Elia’s older brothers. You’d first noticed them a few days previously, as your sister’s handmaid had pointed out how attractive Prince Doran was.

While you couldn’t disagree, you however, found your eyes constantly drawn to Prince Oberyn. He was two-and-six, not that much older than your one-and-eight. His beard was neat and trimmed, and his eyes were dark, glittering orbs that seemed to captivate anyone caught in their depths. Despite the warm weather, the Prince wore a rather heavy cloak, and you supposed it must be true, the rumors of the intense heat in the Dornish capital. 

Being from the North, where snow fell no matter the season, the mere thought of a place with no snow or rain was baffling. It was said there were dunes of sand, and much like snow, they stretched on for miles, a solid expanse of singular color. 

As your eyes fell on the box that housed House Martell, Prince Oberyn happened to raise his own gaze, and your eyes connected across the arena. He held your gaze, raising an eyebrow as you refused to duck your head in embarrassment or shame, a sly grin stretching across his lips. You bit one of your own, and found yourself captivated, as you’d often seen others fall victim to the same stare you were now being subjected. 

The sound of the horn signaling the beginning of the joust startled you some, and you reluctantly tore your eyes from the Princes’, looking to the tents where the jousters would emerge from.

“Is everything alright, sister?” 

You looked over at Lyanna, a question clear upon your face. “You’re flushed. Is something wrong?” You raised your hand to your cheek, surprised to feel the skin heated underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m quite alright Lyanna, I suppose I’m just anxious for the jousts to start.”

With a suspicious hum, Lyann turned away from you, focusing her eyes on the tents just as the knights began to emerge. You fought to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Lyanna and the other ladies began to whisper excitedly when Prince Rhaegar stepped forward. 

You watched, disinterested, as the competitors mounted their horses. The Prince made a grand show of mounting his snow white steed, and you wanted to groan when your twin practically swooned. The Prince led his steed around the arena in a trot, and the ladies in your box titered as he rode by. 

The other competitors in the joust were all Kingsguard, and while you were sure they were perfectly competent, you knew the Prince would be winning this competition. Even if he wasn’t an extremely skilled jouster–which you would admit, reluctantly, that he was–it would be suicidal for any of the Kingsguard to win, what with the King’s fragile sanity. 

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if one of the Kingsguard managed to best Prince Rhaegar, and clearly they didn’t either, for the first of the four went down quickly after the first charge against the Prince. 

Wincing as he hit the ground, you watched as another took his place, only for the same fate to befall him. And again, to the third man. This competition is much shorter than all the others, but even then, you find it exceedingly dull, especially with your sister practically salivating next to you.

Finally, it is the turn of the fourth Kingsguard. The crowd seems to be sitting in anticipation, but you find no such anxieties when the outcome is all but assured. And, sure enough, the final Kingsguard is unseated, and the crowd roars. The Prince gallops around the arena, a show of misplaced pride, and you glance at the Princess Elia, only to see her looking just as unamused as yourself.

“Prince Rhaegar will now present the crown of blue winter roses to his Queen of Love and Beauty!” The voice of the announcer boomed out from his place beneath the royal box, and it seemed as though everyone held their breath, the loud cheers ceasing at once, as the Prince was handed the crown. 

You watched in stunned silence and absolute horror as the Prince rode _past_ the royal box, past his _wife_ , to stop in front of your own box. He reached out, placing the crown on Lyanna’s lap, and you watched, mute, as he gave a stunning smile to your twin sister, which she returned, blushing furiously. 

She held the crown in her lap for a moment, before placing it among her curls, grinning as Prince Rhaegar rode away from the box. Suddenly, the arena burst into noise, members of all the houses shouting over one another at what had just occurred. You watched as Lyanna continued to blush a brilliant red, a smile dancing on her lips, a smile that died as she turned and saw your look of horror. 

Before she could open her mouth, you stood from your seat, leaving the box in a rush. You descended the steps and walked furiously towards the woods behind the arena, sure that if you spoke to your sister, you would be unable to control your temper, and praying to the gods old and new that she would not follow. Unfortunately, the gods did not grant your wish, and you heard Lyanna run after you, stopping you with a hand on your arm.

“Sister! Why did you storm off so? What has gotten into you?”

You spun around to face her. “Me? What’s gotten into me? Lyanna have you lost all sense? Have you gone as mad as the king?” Your voice was an angry whisper, words sharp and biting as her eyes widened. “What in the name of the gods possessed you to accept that crown?” You gestured to the blue winter roses atop her head. 

“Prince Rhaegar named me his Queen of Love and Beauty! Why should I not accept?” Her voice was petulant and whiny, and for a moment, you wondered how it was possible the two of you were the same age, let alone related. 

“Prince Rhaegar is _married,_ Lyanna! He is _married_ to a Princess of Dorne! She has already given him a daughter! You are the daughter of Lord Stark, Warden of the North! You cannot possibly be so foolish as to not understand the consequences of this!” Your voice rose louder and louder until you were practically yelling. “For the Prince to name anyone else other than his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty is a grave insult, for him to so name the daughter of a Great House _different than the one he married into_ is an insult even more so! I would not be surprised if Dorne does not take offence to his actions, and refuse trade with the North!”

Lyanna didn’t look repentant however. “So? We do not need Dorne! We are perfectly fine trading with the other kingdoms, we don’t need them!” You wanted to grab your sister around the shoulders and shake her. 

“We have trade agreements with Dorne, Lyanna! They provide most of the exotic trades for all of fucking Westeros! To destroy the alliance between our houses would be unforgivable, and quite frankly, terrible for our people!” You saw your brothers quickly moving towards the two of you, and you sighed heavily. “You should return the damn crown, and we should leave Harrenhal, and hope that you have not just single-handedly destroyed one of the North’s alliances!” 

You stormed away, and as Brandon tried to stop you, you shrugged him off. “If I continue to speak to my _sister_ , I may _smack_ her. I suggest you attempt to talk some sense into her.” Your words were curt and sharp, and the word sister was spat with contempt and disgust. You continued to storm away, only to see Princess Elia ahead of you, walking with her ladies-in-waiting. 

You sped up slightly, approaching her. “My lady, if I could speak with you for a moment?” Her handmaids eyed you distrustfully, but Princess Elia surprisingly waved them on. She waited until they were out of earshot before turning to you. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Stark?” Her words were perfectly polite, but cold and unemotional. If you hadn’t been looking into her eyes, you would have thought she’d been completely unaffected by what had just occurred. 

“I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for the stupidity and arrogance my sister displayed at the end of the joust, my lady.” It was clear that was not what the Princess was expecting you to say, and her cold, indifferent mask cracked. 

“Oh?”

You sighed, suddenly feeling much older than one-and-eight. “I will not lie to you my lady. My sister has been rather infatuated with your husband since the beginning of the tourney. I have attempted to talk to her on multiple occasions, but she refuses to listen to my council. I am truly very sorry for the pain this may have caused.” You didn’t want to presume any hurt on the part of Princess Elia, but neither were you willing to just let this go unaddressed. “I never could have imagined anything such as this happening, and if there is anything I can do…?” You trailed off once more, once again not wanting to presume anything on her part.

To your surprise, Princess Elia smiled softly. “Your words bring me some comfort Lady Stark. I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. You did not need to speak to me, but you have, and I greatly appreciate it.” 

You shook your head slowly. “I _did_ need to speak with you, my lady. My honor would demand nothing less. I am only sorry my sister seems to possess none.” 

Princess Elia let out a soft laugh at your words, and you briefly found yourself wondering at how Prince Rhaegar could have named anyone but his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty. “Your honesty is refreshing, Lady Stark. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Ladies of your character are few and far between in court it would seem, and I would not be opposed to another friend.” 

Stunned, it took you a moment before you nodded. “Of course, my lady. I only insist that you call me by my name. It seems rather rude to insist upon a friend referring to myself as Lady Stark.” You gave her your name, and she smiled once more. 

“Of course. But I fear I must insist for you to call me Elia.” 

You agreed, and Elia told you that she would have someone stop by your rooms to escort you to her private chambers. You watched as she rejoined her handmaids and continued towards the castle. Hearing the raised voices of your sister and brothers, you sighed, turning back to rejoin the familial argument, your eyes missing the slightly hidden figure observing you. 

***

Later that evening, you were in your rooms awaiting whoever the Princess–Elia–sent to escort you. Brandon had argued fiercely with you, wanting to leave Harrenhal immediately, but you’d argued that if you had the chance to try and repair at least some of the friendship between House Martell and House Stark, you should take it. 

Ned had been quiet, like always, only giving his opinion once directly asked, but surprisingly he agreed with you. Lyanna refused to make comment, sitting forlornly at one of the windows in the solar, glaring at you every so often. She was convinced Prince Rhaegar had fallen in love with her, and it infuriated you beyond belief. You had no idea your twin could be this dense, and it was only made worse when Brandon informed the two of you that your father had decided just before Harrenhal to sign a betrothal between House Stark and House Baratheon. Specifically, between Lyanna and Robert. 

Oh how Lyanna had raged, screaming one second and then crying the next, swearing to the gods that she would never marry that “whoring and uncouth oaf of a man” and that her destiny was to be with Prince Rhaegar. While you understood her desire to not marry Baratheon–you had seen the many, _many_ comings and goings of serving girls from his tents and quarters at inappropriate hours–you knew it was not up to her to decide. Your lord father had always made clear that the two of you were going to be used to strengthen alliances, and you’d thought Lyanna had understood that.

Clearly not. 

A sharp knock resonated from the door to your chambers, and Brandon looked up at you as you moved to answer. “Are you sure–” He barely got the words out before you turned to him in a huff.

“ _Yes_ Bran, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Princess Elia, she’s been perfectly cordial, and I am looking forward to dining with her.” You pinned your brother to his seat with a glare, and turned to open the door.

Your eyes widened somewhat when you saw who awaited you. 

“Prince Oberyn,” you greeted, dropping into a small curtsey. You heard your brother’s sharp intakes of breath at your words, and you tried very hard not to smirk. It had always amused you how cautious they were around the famed Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe the stories, oh no, you were quite sure a good many of them were true, you just weren’t afraid of him. Your brothers on the other hand had always been convinced that if you spent more than a few seconds in the Prince’s presence, you’d lose your life. Or your virtue. You weren’t sure which they considered to be worse.

“My lady.” His voice was low and smooth, and fit him _perfectly_. It took all you had to not react, especially when he raised your hand to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles. His eyes were just as intense as earlier during the tournament, and up close, the strong line of his jaw and the sliver of bare skin on his chest were quite distracting. You hardly noticed when Brandon appeared behind you.

Prince Oberyn gently dropped your hand before greeting your brother. “Lord Stark,” he began, bowing his head briefly. “My sister, Princess Elia, has sent me to escort Lady Stark to her chambers for the evening meal.” 

Brandon nodded jerkily, his distrusting eyes focused on the Prince’s face. “Very well.” His words were forced, as though he spoke through clenched teeth, and oh you wanted to laugh.

Prince Oberyn offered his arm to you, and you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. With a smirking nod at your brother, he began to lead you down the hallway. You flinched somewhat at the loud _bang_ of your door as it closed, and you fought back a grin.

“It seems, my lady,” Prince Oberyn began. “That your brother is rather displeased that I am to be escorting you.” You could hear the underlying question in his words, and you chuckled softly.

“Indeed.” You peered up at him, and his eyes bored into yours. “My brothers are quite convinced I will become your victim, although from poison or licentiousness they can’t seem to decide.” The Prince let out a startled laugh at your words, looking away from your gaze.

“My sister seemed quite eager to dine with you. I promise you are at no risk of any poisons from me this evening.” You raised your eyebrow at what was very clearly _not_ said. 

“And your licentious nature? Am I not also safe in that regard?” You knew it was dangerous to prod a viper, and doubly so to prod this particular Viper. You looked ahead down the hall, even when you could feel his gaze upon you. 

You tried to not show your reaction as his head lowered next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered to you. “I am afraid I can make no promises to you in that regard, Lady Stark.” Before you could retort, you’d arrived at Princess Elia’s chambers. “This is where I leave you, Lady Stark.” Prince Oberyn once more took your hand in his own, pressing a lingering kiss against it. “I will escort you back to your chambers once you’ve finished.”

“Thank you, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you could practically taste the tension in the air. He pressed one more kiss to your knuckles before he turned on his heel and left. You secretly pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, where his lips had just been, and imagined you could still feel the warmth he left behind.

You turned and knocked on the door, almost surprised at how quickly it opened. One of Princess Elia’s handmaids stood to the side, and you entered the room.

You’d spent entirely too long in Elia’s rooms, but you found it hard to care. The Princess was wonderful company, despite being older than you. She had an innocence about her, an innocence that even marriage and a child could not dull. You’d once more expressed your regret at your sister’s actions, and your rage over Prince Rhaegar’s, and Elia spent much of the evening speaking to you of her frustrations with Rhaegar, as she finally found someone just as aggrieved as herself.

You’d been shocked to learn just how hard Rhaegar was pushing for Elia to have more children, despite her daughter having been born not many moons prior. She told you of the prophecy King Aerys was obsessed with, and her fears that she would be unable to provide the third child called for in the prophecy, as she was already pregnant with her second babe. 

You were sworn to secrecy, as no one knew yet of the second pregnancy. The maesters had advised against another child so quickly, but Elia hadn’t had a choice. You listened to her fears, and comforted her as best as you were able. She apologized for burdening you, but you waved her off. You’d found a friend in Elia, one who seemed to truly understand you, and it was no burden at all to support her. 

“When are you to leave Harrenhal?” 

You sighed, setting down the glass of dornish red after taking a sip. “Likely soon. I know my brothers do not wish to stay for long, and with my sister’s actions... “ your voice trailed off. “I fear it would be best for House Stark to go back to the North sooner rather than wait.” 

Elia sighed sadly. “I will miss your presence,” she admitted, turning to look at you. “I know we’ve just met, but you’ve already become such a dear friend. Would you write to me?” You nodded, smiling widely.

“Aye,” you agreed. “Only if you promise to write back.” Giggling, Elia nodded her acquiescence, and she was still giggling when there was a knock at her chamber’s door. 

“Tis likely my brother, here to escort you back,” her words were plain, but the look in her eyes was mischievous. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable on the way here?” 

Flushing brightly, you shook your head. “No, Elia. He didn’t do anything of the sort.” She grinned, as though knowing you were lying to her, but she didn’t press. “I’ll take my leave now, my lady.” Your words were cheeky, and Elia grinned, unrepentant, as she stood to offer you a brief hug. 

You left the rooms, and true to her words, found Prince Oberyn standing at the door, waiting for you. “May I escort you, Lady Stark?” His grin was just as mischievous as his sister’s and you were sure your cheeks were still red, and not from the wine. 

“I would appreciate it, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you allowed him to tuck your arm into the crook of his elbow once more, leading you out into the hallway. “I greatly enjoyed my time with your sister.”

You didn’t see the way Prince Oberyn looked down at you with a fond smile. “I am glad, my lady,” he murmured. “Elia has precious few friends in Westeros, and I am glad she has found one as fierce as you.” 

His words caused you to look up at him in confusion, only for him to smirk. “Your argument with your sister was rather loud, and I will admit, it drew my attention.” He paused in front of one of the windows lining the halls, looking at you with an intensity you couldn’t hope to match. “I was rather furious with your House, you see, when Elia was slighted at the joust.” A shadow crossed your face, and he grinned darkly. “I was… pleased to see that at least one member of House Stark also took great offence.”

You flushed, tearing your eyes away from his and stepping away for a moment, looking out the window. “My family likes to pride ourselves on our honor,” you whispered, and the Prince moved closer to hear you. “I could not stand by as my sister acted so dishonorably at the tourney. Mine own honor wouldn’t stand for it.” 

You were surprised to feel his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His lips were next to your ear, and his words caused a heat to rush through your veins. “Indeed, my little shewolf,” his voice was a low growl, and desire pooled in your belly. “And it only makes me want you _more_.” His lips attacked your neck, sucking directly over your pulse point. Letting out a soft gasp, you sag in the Prince’s arms, one hand over his on your ribs, the other reaching up to tangle in his dark locks of hair. 

He bit at your pulse harshly, before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your legs felt weak from his ministrations, and though you knew he would leave marks upon your skin, you could not bring yourself to care. You gasped suddenly as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold stone of the palace walls, his hands bringing your wrists up to cross them above your head, leaving you on display for him. He pinned your wrists with one hand, the other tangling in your tresses as he tilted your head up and claimed your lips for his own.

His taste was intoxicating, luxurious and heavenly all at once. His tongue begged your lips for entrance, and once granted, he tilted your head and _devoured_ you. His tongue fought with your own, but his experience was far greater than yours, and he won the duel for domination easily. Pressing the length of his body against yours, you moaned into his mouth, wanton and lascivious and licentious and downright _whorish_ as he took and took and took what he wanted from you. 

You felt as though you couldn’t breath, tearing your mouth from his for a few gasping lungfuls of air, but he dived back in immediately, stealing that air right back. You were breathless, panting as the Prince ground himself into you, unable to do much more than just accept his advances, although you were certainly not going to complain. His lips sought to own yours, and you gladly gave control to him. 

Finally he pulled back, just barely, and his breath ghosted across your spit-slicked lips. “Sweet suffering gods, woman,” he whispered, and you felt a flush of pleasure as you realized what you– _you_ –had reduced the Red Viper of Dorne to. You craned your neck, inviting his lips to touch yours once more, and he gave in with a groan.

You’re not sure how long Prince Oberyn had you pinned against the wall, ravishing your lips like you were a common brothel whore, but you loved every second. You’d kissed a few boys back home in Winterfell, but nothing could ever compare to _this_ . Prince Oberyn was no boy, he was a man, and oh it _showed_. Your tongues tangled together in an intimate dance, leaving you breathless and gasping for more all the same. 

His hand stayed buried in your hair, anchoring you to him, and you weren’t sure you could escape, even if you wanted to. He finally pulled away, although it seemed to cause him great pain to do so. He was panting softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen, dark with a desire you only barely recognized.

“As much as I’d like to continue, little shewolf,” he practically growled at you. “Your lord brothers will be missing you, and I rather think they would be quite cross with us if they found me ravishing you in a palace alcove.” You flushed at his words, blinking up dazedly at the Prince as your heart raced in your chest. 

He groaned softly as you looked up at him, the near-perfect picture of innocence, if not for your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He released your wrists, and you slowly brought your arms down, only to clutch at the front of his tunic. His hand cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes darkening as you wrapped your tongue around the digit, pulling it into your mouth and slowly sucking. 

You twirled your tongue around his thumb, delighting at the way his features twisted in pleasure as you were sure he was imagining your mouth on _other_ parts of him. You released him with a wet _pop_ , watching his face as his eyes followed his hand as he trailed it down your chest, before cupping your breast, brushing his still spit covered thumb against your nipple. You whined, the noise high in your throat as he squeezed gently, and if your brothers had come around the corner at that very moment, you weren’t sure you could have stopped, even if you’d wanted to.

But they didn’t, and you panted as the Prince fondled you through the thin gown you wore, watching as he smirked at you before leaning down and taking your breast into his mouth, sucking over the fabric. Your hands flew to his hair, gasping at the sensation. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you never wanted him to stop.

Alas, he pulled away, eying the darkened fabric around your breast with a dark smirk. You whimpered at the loss, and he leaned down to press one, two, three quick kisses to your still swollen lips. 

He stood up straight, offering his arm to you once more, and you took it, flushing. As you continued down the hall, you prayed that you wouldn’t run into any servants, or–gods forbid–nobles. You were sure you looked a right sight, disheveled and thoroughly ravished by the Red Viper. You knew what your brothers would assume if they saw you, so you were very pleased when you arrived at your rooms, and found them to be absent. 

You went to let go of the Prince’s arm and go into your rooms, but he spun you suddenly and pressed you hard against the wood, his thigh wedged between your own. His eyes were still dark with lust, and you felt every inch the prey, nothing like the predator of your family’s House. 

“How _irresponsible_ ,” Prince Oberyn tsked as he looked down at you, “of your lord brothers to leave your rooms empty, without so much as a guard. _Anyone_ could be waiting, lurking in the shadows.” His voice was low, and he practically hissed at you, very much reminiscent of the viper for which he was so named. “There could be dangerous men, hiding out, waiting to take the virtue of a young maiden such as yourself.”

You bit your lip, debating with yourself, before letting the words slip from between your lips. “I think there’s only one man here who wants to take my virtue this night, my prince,” you whispered, watching as Prince Oberyn’s jaw clenched tight. You stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips close to his ear. “And I am inclined to let him.”

The Prince’s reaction was swift, striking at you before you could blink. His arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest before bending you back, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back even farther as his lips claimed yours. You clutched desperately at his shoulders, sure you were falling, but his hold was too tight to prevent such a thing.

You could feel his desire for you, in the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips moved over yours. You pulled back to try to speak, but his mouth chased yours, causing you to speak in broken gasps. 

“M–My… my… my room!” Your hand frantically grasping at the door handle, it swung open, and Prince Oberyn allowed you to straighten only briefly as he shoved you inside, shutting the door and pushing you against it once more. “Y–you… you seem to–to have… a–a passion…” you gasped, moaning brokenly as his hand gripped your hip tightly. “F–For pushing m–me… against things…” 

Prince Oberyn nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as you tried to speak. His lips trailed across your cheek, pressing fluttering kisses against your skin until he could suck at your ear. You moaned, uncaring if you could be heard, focused only on the pleasure this Prince was willingly providing you. 

His fingers danced among the laces of your dress, toying with the ties. “Indeed,” he muttered, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “It’s not often a viper has a shewolf willing to _submit_ to him.” With a sharp tug, the ties come undone, and your dress begins to fall, stopped only by the press of the Prince’s body against yours. 

His head pulls back, eyes locked onto yours as he looks for permission to continue. Taking matters into your own hands, you push onto his chest, causing him to step back, allowing your dress to pool on the floor, leaving you bare except for your smallclothes. You’re flushed at your boldness, but the way Prince Oberyn’s eyes rove over your figure more than makes up for your brief flash of uncertainty. 

He’s well within distance to be able to touch you, and touch you he does, his fingers ghosting over your bare side, trailing up until they run across the fabric of the band covering your breasts. He steps forward until your chests are nearly pressed together, but not quite. 

“May I?” His voice is a whisper, breathy with want as his fingers trace the clasps. His other hand gently brushes against the small patch of wet fabric from his earlier ministrations in the hallways, and your whole body shudders. 

With your nod, he releases the clasp holding the binding together, and gently unwinds the fabric from around your chest. His hands leave your skin long enough to drop the fabric to the floor, but not a second longer, rough fingers coming back to brush against the skin of your breasts, drawing tantalizing shapes and teasing your tender flesh until your nipples harden into peaks. 

You’re unable to stop yourself from gasping at the sensation. Until this very moment the only hands to touch you there were your own, and _oh gods_ the sensations are so, so very different. One of his hands reluctantly leaves your breast, grasping at your hip as he pulls you around, moving you towards the bed. You go willingly, allowing the Prince to move your body as you focus on his fingers, brushing gently over your breast, over and over and–

The air whooshes out of your lungs as you fall back onto the bed, hair fanning out onto the sheets beneath you as your Prince hovers above you, dark eyes trained on yours, watching for any signs of discomfort. But you’re comfortable, more comfortable than you think you’ve ever been before, comfortable laying under this man, being touched by hands you knew had killed, because you knew those hands would show you nothing but adoration. 

He must see something in your eyes, acceptance or some other encouragement, because he dips forward until he can take a nipple into his mouth, suckling, not unlike a babe. Crying out at the sensation, your back arches, pushing your breast into his mouth, and he suckles harder. It feels as though he is trying to draw your very soul out of your body through your breast, but you couldn’t care less. The feeling is heavenly, and the desire that has been simmering in your belly since he first escorted you to Elia’s rooms increases, threatening to overwhelm you with forbidden pleasure. 

Gods, if only your brothers could see you now, writhing underneath the Red Viper, a shewolf willingly submitting to a man not her husband, not even her betrothed, and _loving_ it. Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging this way and that, and with a particularly harsh yank, the Viper above you _moans_. 

His voice sends streaks of desire racing through your veins, and by the gods, you want to hear that again. You yank once more on his strands, and he actually releases your skin as a groan escapes his throat. Suddenly ravenous, you pull him up to your lips once more, slotting your mouth against his own, and kissing him with a fervor you’ve never experienced before. 

As you moan into his mouth, your hands are busy, tugging at his own tunic, desperate to feel his bare skin against your own. Dornish fashion certainly had the benefit of being able to disrobe quickly, as with one tug of the belt around his waist, his long tunic came apart, and you pushed it off his shoulders, greedily running your hands across the bare expanse of his chest. 

His skin is bare, unlike many of the men of your household. Northmen often grew hair on their chest, but Prince Oberyn’s skin is smooth, unmarred. You rake your nails down his chest and he growls against your lips, fingers gripping the sheets tightly, refraining from touching you as you explore his body. Trailing your fingers down, you find that the Prince is not completely free of hair, as there is a small trail just underneath his navel, leading down into his breeches. 

You run your fingers through the fine hairs, scratching gently, and you can feel the Prince’s muscles tense at your actions. He grabs your wrist and pins it above your head, and you blink up at him innocently. His chest is heaving, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Using your free hand, you guide his lips back to yours, and at the same time, you wrap one leg around his waist, pulling his hips flush to yours.

Moaning into his mouth, you encourage him to grind into you, and Prince Oberyn does so, gladly. His tongue dances with yours, and you can feel the heat of him between your legs, so close, flesh only separated by a few layers of cloth. Breaking away with a gasp, he releases your wrist, only to grasp your smallclothes with both hands, ripping them away from you, the soft fabric tearing at the seams.

You cry out in shock, not expecting the sudden, violent act, but it does nothing to dampen your desire. The Prince easily lifts you further up the bed, his hands running over your bared skin before clasping the insides of your thighs, holding them apart. He moves down your body, and you’re confused for a moment, unsure of his intentions–

 _Oh gods_.

You can’t even _think_ , not when his tongue is _there_ , not when he’s _licking_ at you like you’re the last source of water on this continent, _oh_ –

“F–Fuck!” 

The curse forces itself from your lips as Prince Oberyn takes your clit between his own lips and _sucks_ . Your back arches, and he quickly winds an arm around your waist to keep you anchored to the bed, to stop you from moving as he laves between your legs. You don’t even try to keep quiet, even though your brothers or your sister could come back at any time, you can’t keep quiet, Prince Oberyn’s tongue feels like _nothing_ you’ve ever done to yourself, it feels _incredible_ –

Your groan pierces the air just as Prince Oberyn’s finger pierces you, and you throw a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure. It’s clear the Prince disapproves of your intentions however, as he begins to pump his finger in and out, setting a brutal pace that just gets more and more intense. Just as you think it can’t possibly feel any better, with his tongue on your clit and his finger in your cunt, he adds a second one, and you’re pretty sure you _screamed_. 

The Prince chuckles, and the vibrations against your clit only increase your pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening beyond what you thought possible, but it’s when he adds a _third_ finger that the coil snaps. Your hands are clenched in his hair, your hips undulating as much as his iron grip will allow, moans and gasps escaping your lips as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your muscles all tense with the release, and he never stops moving his fingers, doesn’t halt the movement of his tongue until you collapse back onto the bed, panting. He slowly removes his lips from you, but his fingers continue to pump lazily. He looks up at your face, taking in the way your eyes are closed in bliss, your lips parted as little puffs of air escape, desperately trying to catch your breath.

He pulls himself up with one hand, and watches as your eyes open to look at his face, his lips and chin smeared and glistening with your release. He looks so utterly pleased with himself that you can’t help but pull him down, crashing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on him. It turns you on more than you’d thought it might. 

You lazily exchange kisses, tongues slowly tangling together as he continues to gently massage your inner walls with his fingers. His slow movements have only been stoking the fire, not extinguishing it, and you find yourself wanting that release again. You push on his shoulder, and he detaches from your lips with a small frown. He tries to ask you what’s wrong, but you don’t want to talk, so you take control, flipping your Prince over til he’s on his back, and you’re straddling his waist. His fingers are forced from your cunt and you whimper at the loss, but the promise of something _more_ spurns you on. 

You tug at the laces on his breeches as he watches with hooded eyes, hissing as you yank the cloth down his legs and take him into your hands. He’s big, a lot bigger than you were expecting, but the sight excites you. You watch your Prince’s face carefully as you dip your fingers between your legs, moaning as you brush against your sensitive folds, before wrapping your slick fingers around his length. 

Prince Oberyn’s mouth falls open at the sight, his hands clenched so tight on your hips that he’s likely to leave bruises. _Oh gods_ , you want him to leave bruises. You want to be able to feel where his hands clutched at your skin days from now. You slowly stroke him, biting your lip as you wonder if he’ll fit. He barely fits in your hand, and he’s supposed to fit _inside_ you?

You’re distracted out of your musings as he brushes a thumb gently over your hip bone. You look back at him to see his eyes peering up at you, strangely tender despite the desire still lingering. “We don’t have to do this, my shewolf.” His words are a comfort, but you have no intentions of stopping this night.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, watching as his jaw clenches when you run your thumb over the head of his cock. “I want you to fuck me, my prince.” You flick your eyes back up to his, watching as he groans when you curse. “I want your cock in my cunt,” you have no idea where the words are coming from, but you feel so, _so_ powerful as you speak. “My lord father is likely planning my betrothal to some loyal bannerman as we speak.” The Prince watches you, trying to keep his attention on your words and not on your hand wrapped around his cock. “Likely some old widower, who cares not for me or my desires.” You shuffle up the bed, guiding his cock to brush against your cunt. “I do not wish to spend my life never knowing the pleasures of sex, my lord. I know that I will be a vessel for heirs, that is all they will wish of my body.” You slowly begin to sink down, biting back a whine as the Prince’s cock nearly splits you in half. “Even if it is only once, I want a man to _fuck me_.” 

Prince Oberyn watched you, his jaw slack as you slowly sank onto his cock. He watched your face for signs of pain, but you hid your discomfort well. His eyes flickered down, and the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt, combined with the intense _tightness_ and _heat_ enveloping him, nearly caused him to spill his seed inside of you prematurely, and you could feel the way he clenched his fists in an effort to hold back. 

Finally, your hips were flush with his own, and you gasped for breath at the absolutely overwhelming feeling of being full. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you adjusted to the sheer size of the Prince. Suddenly, you feel fingers gently brushing against your lower stomach and you open your eyes, only to see the Prince staring at you, stunned.

“W–What?” Your voice is quiet, worried something is wrong, but he’s quick to reassure you. 

“ _Look at you._ ” 

It’s all he says, the words reverent and awe-struck, and when you finally look down, you see why. His fingers are brushing over your abdomen, where you can actually see the bump of his cock deep inside you. You gasp, your hand covering his as he presses gently, and you feel pleasure shooting down your spine. 

You clench, on accident from the sudden pressure of your hands, and the Prince groans, low and deep as he feels you squeeze around him. “Oh seven hells,” he breathes, head thrown back. “Fuck, you’re so _tight_.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I think it is less a matter of me being tight, my prince, and more that you are just _big_.” His hand, the one not resting on your belly, comes up to cradle your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. 

“Whatever the cause, you feel _divine_ , sweet girl.”

You flush at his praise, eyes bright as you look at the powerful man resting between your thighs. You’d never imagined that coming to Harrenhal could lead to this, and you find yourself in awe that the Viper could allow himself to be ridden in such a manner. Most men would not deign to give control over to their women, in any manner, and yet this man has given you more power over him than you’ve ever imagined possible. It’s intoxicating, truly. 

You’d always imagined going to your marriage bed a blushing maid, even though you’d technically lost your maidenhead while riding when you were younger. But this, this act of rebellion–for that’s what it was, a rebellion against all the plans your father had or would ever decide for you–was the one thing you truly had control over, and it delighted you. 

Slowly, you begin to raise your hips, until just the head of your Prince’s cock rests inside you. Pausing, you lean forward and place your hands on his chest for leverage, before slowly lowering your body back down. You both moan at the feeling of once again being fully joined, and thus begins the slow rhythm, the gentle rocking back and forth as you work your inner muscles against his cock. 

You can feel the coil simmering, still tense from your previous release, slowly beginning to tighten again, but slower than you wish. Your Prince must see the frustrations on your face, for he speaks. “You’re doing so beautifully, my shewolf. But I must ask,” his voice is low, dripping with desire. “Do you want more?” 

You suck in a breath, nodding slowly. He searches your eyes, perhaps making sure that this is what you want, before he begins to take control. He plants his feet on the bed, hands gripping your waist tight, and just as you’re about to lower yourself back onto his cock, he surges up, slamming his hips into yours, burying his cock inside you swiftly. 

A silent scream leaves your lips as you throw your head back at the sudden intrusion. You’d thought yourself adjusted to his size, but as he sets a relentless pace, you realize you were not adjusted at all. The wet sounds of skin hitting skin fills the room, punctuated by your pants and moans as your Prince takes you from below. 

He suddenly and abruptly flips the two of you over, and you squeak when your back hits the bed. Yet, his cock never leaves you, and you barely have time to get settled before he restarts his brutal pace, pounding into you. You throw your arms around his neck, raking your nails down his back as he mouths at your breast, his hips never faltering. 

“O–Oh, oh gods, f–fuck.” Your whimpering voice is nearly inaudible, the air in your lungs punched out with every thrust, your words senseless as your mind goes nearly blank from the pleasure. The coil is tightening faster than before, and you feel as though you’ll reach your peak any second.

When the coil snapped for a second time, you dug your nails into the Prince’s shoulders, crying out as he continued to fuck you through your peak. But, to your surprise, he didn’t stop. It took you a moment to realize he was still hard, that he hadn’t spilled yet, and this revelation, along with his relentless movements didn’t allow for your body to come down from the high you’d just achieved. 

“O–Oh, oh, m–my p–prince, I–I can’t,” you were practically sobbing as he slammed his hips against you, over and over, and you feel as though his cock is in your womb he’s so deep inside you. 

But he does not heed your words, does not slow his pace as he chases his own release. “I’m going to _ruin_ you, my little shewolf,” he hisses in your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. “You’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me.” He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. “When you lay in your marriage bed, and your lord husband takes you, he’s going to know that I was here first. That your sweet little cunt belongs to me, only _me_ .”   
  
He circles your clit with rough fingers, and that’s the final push you need to fall over the edge. You come apart, legs shaking with the intensity, crying out into Prince Oberyn’s mouth as his lips take yours. He pulls away, thrusts beginning to falter. “W–Where, sweet girl?” His plea is desperate. “Tell me where.”

“I–Inside!” You gasp, and as he looks at you in shock, you repeat yourself. “Inside, please Oberyn, _please!_ ” 

He comes with a violent growl, biting harshly at the skin of your shoulder as he pumps his hips once, twice, before he finally grows still. Despite feeling him grow softer inside you, the feeling of fullness remains. He does not pull out like you would expect, but falls to the side and pulls your sweaty body against his, hand stroking through your hair and down your bare back. 

You lay your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your palm, racing, but slowing as you lay together. His arms around you are warm and sturdy, and you wish that the two of you could lay here for the rest of your lives. 

Unfortunately, you knew he had to leave before your brothers or sister come back. Brandon and Ned would likely kill the Prince if they thought he’d shamed you in any way, although, could it really be shameful if you wanted it?

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as Prince Oberyn breathed deeply. “I wish I could stay here with you, my love.” His hands toyed with your hair, admiring the way it slid through his fingers. “I am not in the habit of leaving a woman’s bed in the middle of the night,” he admitted softly. “If I could, I would wait til morning comes.”

You pressed your lips against his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rush of his pulse. “I know, I wish you could stay, but I will not ask it of you. It would be too dangerous.” You whisper your words against his skin, closing your eyes tightly against the traitorous tears, but it is no use.

Oberyn must feel your tears against his skin, because he tilts your chin up to press a gentle kiss against your lips. When he draws away, he brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Please, do not cry, my shewolf. I do not wish to cause you pain.” 

You laugh, throat tightening up as you try to stop the flow of tears. “I know this cannot last,” you say softly. “But I wish it did not have to end so soon.” Your Prince’s eyes are sorrowful as they look at you, but the both of you know there is nothing you can do. Your father would never agree to allow you to marry so far south, even for a prince. 

The two of you lay in bed for a few minutes more, pressing gentle kisses upon each other’s skin, trying to memorize as much as you can before Oberyn must leave. 

Before he leaves, he helps you clean up with a wet rag, watching as you pull your shift over your head, eyes dark as he sees the numerous marks littering your skin. He feels a vicious pleasure at seeing the imprint of his fingers at your hips, the bite marks across your chest and thighs. You will hopefully remember his touch for many weeks after this. 

He dresses slowly, allowing you to sit on your bed and watch as inch after inch of bronzed skin is covered up by his tunic and breeches. He’s about to leave, when he turns suddenly, and marches back to where you sit, his hands resting on your neck as he tilts your head up and claims your lips one last time. 

This kiss is different from all the others. The hard press of his lips conveys his sorrow and regret at leaving you like this, his fingers tightening on your skin to keep you still underneath him. Your mouth is pliant under his, letting him lead you in one last dance of passion and desire. When he breaks away, there are tears in his eyes, and you cup his cheek. 

“I will _never_ forget you, my Viper of Dorne.” 

“Nor I you, my Shewolf of Winterfell.”

***

You were such a _fool_.

You’d woken up the next morning when Brandon had burst into your room, demanding to know if you’d seen Lyanna. He’d blushed when he’d seen you were still abed, but the worry clear on his face caused you to ignore the fact that he’d entered your private chambers without permission. When you’d told him that you hadn’t seen her since you’d left for Princess Elia’s chambers, he stormed out of your room, causing you to grab a dressing gown and rush out after him.

You found Ned, sitting in a chair, head in his hands, and Brandon was pacing frantically back and forth. When you demanded to know what was going on, Ned looked at you, and you were shocked to see tears in his eyes. You rushed forward, falling to your knees before your brother, taking his hands in yours and begging to know what happened. 

“Lyanna’s been kidnapped.”

Eyes wide, you stared at Ned, mind blank as you tried to understand the words he’d said. You whipped your head around to look at Brandon, and the desolate look on his face told you all you needed to know. “Who? Who took her?” 

Ned’s sorrow turned to anger. “The Silver Prince,” he spat. “Rhaegar Targaryen stole away with her in the night.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips, and both of your brothers stared at you, confused. 

“This isn’t a jape, a servant saw Rhaegar riding away with Lyanna on his steed, this is an act of war!” Brandon yelled, and you laughed bitterly, standing and turning to face him.

“Trust me on this, brother.” Your voice was cold, your previous panic and concern gone. “Prince Rhaegar committed no crime. Lyanna went with him willingly.” Your brothers both began to protest, but you held up your hand. “She has been smitten with him since we arrived. I told you that you should have dealt with her obsession, but you _didn’t listen_ .” You sighed, dropping into a chair. “She was _furious_ when you told her of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon. There is no doubt in my mind that she went with him willingly.” 

Brandon sighed deeply. “It won’t matter if she went with him or if he kidnapped her. House Baratheon will not take this lying down. Robert has already declared that he will gather his men to march on the capitol.” You covered your mouth in shock.

“He didn’t ever speak with her and he’s willing to attack the Mad King, just to get Lyanna back? Is he insane?” You weren’t surprised, if you were being honest with yourself. You’d seen the lusty gaze of Robert on both you and Lyanna throughout the tourney.

Ned winced. “He loves her,” he protested, but the words sounded hollow, and you could tell he thought so too. You knew Robert didn’t love Lyanna. He lusted after her, there was no doubt, but it wasn’t love. But now that she was gone, he felt slighted, and wanted revenge. Sometimes she hated that she’d been born a girl, destined for men to sell her like cattle. She didn’t doubt that there would be war, and that her family would be right in the middle of it all. 

Brandon stood, and she could see the tension throughout his frame. “Pack your bags, sister. You’ll leave with Ned for Winterfell as soon as possible. I need to write father, as I’ll be staying here, rallying the Houses in our alliance.” Ned began to protest, but Bran cut him off. “No, Ned, I need you to go to Winterfell, you _have_ to protect her,” your brother’s voice was quiet, but you could hear it break as he looked at you. Standing, you rushed into his arms, burying your face in his chest as Brandon wrapped his arms around you, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in your hair. 

You’d never seen your brother this scared, and it silenced any and all protests you might’ve had. You’d dressed quickly, and as soon as your things were packed, you were on your way back to Winterfell. The trip took just under two days, and by the time you arrived, your father was just about to leave. He explained that Brandon had arrived in King’s Landing, only for King Aerys to take him hostage when he demanded Rhaegar return Lyanna. Lord Stark was going to King’s Landing to get his son and heir back, and that meant that Ned would be the acting Warden of the North.

Rickard Stark ordered you to stay inside, terrified that you would be taken next. You tried to argue, but your heart wasn’t in it. You knew how it looked, the Prince of Westeros kidnapping the daughter of the Warden of the North and the betrothed of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The North and the Stormlands would not let this insult go without punishment. But with the King’s madness, you were terrified for the safety of your father and eldest brother. You watched him leave, a pit in your stomach as you felt with a grim certainty that this would be the last time you saw your father.

When word arrived that Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon Stark had been put to death by the Mad King, you were in Ned’s solar with him. You collapsed in shock and horror as the maester read the missive sent by King Aerys, demanding Ned and yourself present at King’s Landing, along with Robert Baratheon. You clutched at Ned as he cradled you in his arms, sobbing as he promised you that he’d never let the Mad King touch you, that he would get revenge for your family. You begged and pleaded with him to not go, but he told you that he didn’t have a choice. Jon Arryn was calling the bannermen to arms, and they were going to march on King’s Landing. 

For the first two moons of fighting, you moved through Winterfell as a ghost. You spoke little, rarely leaving your rooms, and the only one you spoke to on any regular basis was your little brother, Benjen. You knew there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and you tried to help run the household as best you could, but your mind constantly wandered, worrying about your brother, and the attacks. You even worried about Lyanna, despite your anger at her. 

You wrote somewhat regularly with Princess Elia, who told you of how she was being held in King’s Landing by King Aerys, to force Dorne to fight for the crown. Queen Rhaella protected her as best as possible, but now that she was showing, the King demanded she be kept guarded at all times. Your letters were disguised as being those written by a lady in the court in Sunspear, so that Elia couldn’t be accused of aiding the enemy. 

At the start of the third moon after the beginning of what they were calling Robert’s Rebellion, you noticed that you were feeling sick with alarming regularity. You had a hard time keeping food down, and you were tired often. You wrote of your sickness in your letters to Elia, and all she could tell you was that your sickness sounded similar to how she felt when she was pregnant with Rhaenys. 

And that’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t drunk moon tea after your night with Oberyn. 

You wanted to hit yourself. You _knew_ that he had a history of lying with women for a night, only for them to get with child. Gods, he had three bastards that he’d claimed, and who knew how many others could possibly be out there across Westeros and Essos. You lay a hand against your stomach, and noticed it felt firmer, hardened. You stared at the letter from Elia, the words seeming to float off the page. You were with child, _Oberyn’s_ child. 

You’d never imagined that any child of yours would be a bastard. You parents had told you often while growing up that you would marry some lord, to strengthen one alliance or another. You knew you’d be required to provide heirs. You’d thought about your future children with little fondness, knowing that you’d never love their father, and that they’d either be heirs or sold to other lords to forge yet more alliances. 

But now that you were with child? A bastard child no less? You knew how Ned would react. He would be _furious_. You found yourself with a small sense of relief that Ned was off fighting, so that you might have time to figure out what to do. You knew if you asked the maester, he would give you a medicine to remove the child from your womb, but you didn’t want that. You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the idea of having a child with equal parts of you and Oberyn. 

You decided to keep the child a secret as long as possible. The fewer who knew of your condition, the safer your babe would be. 

***

The Mad King was dead. Prince Rhaegar was dead. Robert Baratheon was victorious over the armies of King’s Landing. You’d been summoned to the capitol, and Ned had sent word that he would be on his way as well, from the Tower of Joy. You were confused as to why your brother had been in Dorne, but didn’t press for answers. His letters had been getting shorter and shorter as of late, and you didn’t know why. 

You didn’t know how, but you’d managed to keep the fact that you were with child a secret throughout the entirety of your pregnancy. You hardly showed, and you knew it had to be a sign from the gods, that you had done the right thing in not telling anyone. Your sickness had been easily explained away, and your tiredness was blamed on the loss of your father and brother.

But you were scared. As you arrived at the capitol, you knew you could give birth any day now, and giving birth in King’s Landing would be extremely dangerous. Robert Baratheon held no love for the Dornish, like most of Westeros, but the fact that Rhaegar had been rumored to have fled to Dorne with Lyanna ignited Robert’s temper.

As you walked into the throne room, you were shocked to see Elia, kneeling and in chains in front of the Iron Throne. Little Rhaenys was chained as well, and baby Aegon, not even half a year old, was in his crib, with a Kingsguard standing over him, weapon drawn. Robert was sitting on the throne, anger making his cheeks turn a ruddy color, and Ned stood next to him, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Running forward, you fell to your knees by Elia, ignoring the shouts of the men around you as you drew Rhaenys into your arms, shielding her as best you could. Elia looked shocked to see you, and you could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. 

Whipping your head around, you glared viciously at Robert and your brother. “ _What is the meaning of this_ ?” Your voice carried around the room, the tone as cold as a Northern winter. Robert and Ned looked at you, stunned. “ _I said, what is the meaning of this_?!” You yelled, watching as your brother flinched.

But it wasn’t him who spoke. “The former princess and her children have been charged with crimes against House Stark and House Baratheon.” Jon Arryn swallowed harshly as you turned your glare on him. “They are to be put to death.”

You gasped, and Elia let out a sob next to you. You looked wildly from Robert to Ned and back to Robert. “What crimes could they have _possibly_ committed? I was under the impression that hostages of war are not held accountable for the actions of their captors!” Your brother tried to speak but you would not let him. “You won the fucking war! Let it end! Peace has been brought back to Westeros, do not start this new era with the death of an innocent woman, a small child and a _babe_!” 

“INNOCENT?” Robert roared, standing from the throne. “YOU WOULD CALL THEM INNOCENT? THEY’RE THE FAMILY OF THAT SILVER HAIRED BASTARD!” You saw your brother trying to frantically shush Robert, but he would not be quieted. “THE SAME BASTARD WHO KILLED YOUR TWIN SISTER! YOU DARE CALL THEM INNOCENT?”

Robert stood, chest heaving as he looked around the room. When his eyes landed on you, he took a step back. You were still kneeling, a look of shock on your face, tears in your eyes. 

_Fuck._

You hadn’t known.

Ned hadn’t told you of Lyanna’s death.

Faintly you heard Elia speaking to you, whispering frantically, apologizing over and over, swearing to the gods Old and New that she hadn’t known, that she’d had no idea Rhaegar had killed her, that she was so, so very sorry–

You cut her off with a hug, clinging to her dirty gown as you shook silently. Only Elia had known all of the emotions you’d run through during Lyanna’s disappearance. Only Elia had known that no matter how much you were mad at her, that you couldn’t hate your sister. That even though she’d been the catalyst to throw Westeros into war, you loved her still.

“You didn’t know.”

Robert’s voice was quiet, and you slowly pulled away from Elia to look at him. You were sure you looked a sight, tears in your eyes, an angry scowl upon your face. “No, _Lord_ Robert, I did not know of my sister’s demise. _Thank you_ , for informing me.” Your voice was thick with sarcasm, and you could see both men wince at your tone. “But if you think for one _second_ that I would _ever_ blame Elia and her babies for Lyanna’s death then you are as mad as King Aerys was!” 

Ned’s eyes widened, and Robert stumbled back, sitting heavily on the throne as he stared at you. You were wrapped protectively around Rhaenys, glaring at the new king and your brother. You knew that your words could spark another conflict, but you would not sit back while Elia and her children burned for Rhaegar’s mistakes. You _couldn’t_. 

“Exile.” 

You looked at your brother, surprised. He looked surprised at himself, but when Robert made a confused noise, he continued. “Exile Elia and her children to Dorne. If her children swear to abdicate any right to the Iron Throne, they will be no threat to your rule. My sister is right, Robert.” Elia began sobbing anew at Ned’s words, but they were tears of hope. “Do not start your rule by executing a woman and her children for the crimes of her husband. Lyanna wouldn’t want that.” 

It was Ned’s final sentence that seemed to break Robert out of his stupor. “Y–Yes, your right, as always Ned,” he muttered, and you dared hold your breath in hope. “Exile. They will be put on the first ship to Dorne. Elia Martell, you will forfeit on behalf of your children their right to the Iron Throne, and when they each reach the age of one-and-ten, they will reaffirm their forfeiture of the Iron Throne.” 

It took Elia a moment to be able to speak, her voice breaking. “I so swear it, my lord,” she said, bowing her body, her nose almost touching the floor. “My children forfeit their right to the throne, and we will remain in Dorne for the rest of our days, my lord.” 

There was a clanking as little Rhaenys tugged on your dress, trying to get your attention. You looked down at her, not noticing as the room fell silent around the two of you. 

“I don’ want it,” the little girl’s voice was quiet, and she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. “‘M sorry, I don’ want the.. the…” She trailed off, little brow scrunching up as she tried to finish her sentence. 

“Throne? You don’t want the throne, sweetheart? Is that it?” She nodded vigorously, and the rattling of the chains around her wrists as she shook in your arms made you flinch. “See, _your highness_ ? Rhaenys has declared she doesn’t want the Iron Throne. Is that _enough_ for you?” Robert nodded weakly, gesturing for one of the Kingsguard to unchain Elia and Rhaenys. You hovered protectively, glaring at the guard, you thought it might have been Jaimie Lannister, when he was too rough in the handling of the former princesses. 

As soon as Elia was unchained, she scooped Aegon into her arms, cradling him protectively to her breast. She bowed low, still shaking with fear, before Robert ordered one of the Kingsguard to escort her and her children to the docks. Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, gently laying a hand against Elia’s back as he began to lead her out. You went to follow, still hovering by Rhaenys, when Robert called for you to stay behind. You stopped, and Elia turned, nodding at your worried glance, telling you to stay behind. You nudged Rhaenys forward, before turning back to your brother and Robert.Robert looked uncomfortable as you continued to glare at him, and you finally turned to Ned for answers as to why you’d been asked to stay back. 

“It was suggested…” Your brother looked just as uncomfortable as Robert. “That since Lyanna is… gone, the best way to show our support of Robert’s reign would be to join the two of you in marriage.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two men as neither of them would meet your eyes. As your eyes fell on Jon Arryn, you realized that he must have been the one to suggest it, as neither your brother, nor Robert would have come up with marriage being the best way to join your houses. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at plotting the marriage between the new king and the twin sister of his newly-dead betrothed. 

“Absolutely not.” Your eyes bored holes into Jon Arryn’s, refusing to back down, as would have been proper for a lady of your station. “I will not marry Robert Baratheon, now or ever. House Stark has lost more to this rebellion than any other of your allies, we have given _enough._ Now if you excuse me, I am going to say goodbye to Elia, as I will likely never see her again.” 

You turned abruptly, storming from the throne room, and almost immediately, you ran into Lord Howland Reed. He was standing outside the throne room, holding a bundle in his arms. You stopped, surprised, and before he was able to hide the bundle, you saw what he was holding. 

A babe. 

A babe that looked like _Lyanna_. 

Eyes wide, you grasped him by the arm and began to drag him with you as you continued out of the keep. “Lord Reed, whose babe is that?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer. He glanced at you cautiously, and you gripped his arm tighter. “ _Whose. Babe. Is. That_?” 

He sighed, looking around before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “When we found Lyanna, she had just given birth to Rhaegar’s child. She died soon after, but not before making Lord Stark promise to protect him.” 

You stumbled. Lyanna? Pregnant? You clasped a hand over your mouth, and you feared you were going to be sick. And the fact that Rhaegar was the father? If Robert had wanted to kill Rhaenys and Aegon, just for being Rhaegar’s children, what would he do to this babe? You knew Robert would never accept that Lyanna had gone with Rhaegar willingly, and if he thought Rhaegar had raped her? He would kill this babe. You knew it. 

“How does Ned expect to explain him to Robert?” 

Lord Reed sighed. “Lord Stark plans to tell the King that the babe is his bastard–” You cut him off with a laugh. 

“Ned? With a bastard? My brother must be insane,” you muttered. “The whole realm knows of the honor of House Stark, my brother the most of all. No one will believe he broke his marriage vows and sired a bastard.” You stopped, and held your arms out, gesturing for Lord Reed to give you the babe. “I will take him.” 

Lord Reed looked at you, confused. “My lady, no one will believe him to be yours, I–” you cut him off once more, mind racing as you thought through your half-baked plan. 

“People will more readily believe I gave birth to two bastards than Ned having just the one.” Lord Reed’s eyes widened, and they flickered down to your stomach before he flushed in embarrassment. “I will ride with Elia to Dorne. They are more accepting of bastards there, and while I will miss Ned and Benjen, it is difficult to stay in Winterfell when the rest of my family has perished. Please, give me the babe.”

Lord Reed handed you the child, and you looked down at the sleeping babe, his features thankfully purely Lyanna. “What’s his name?” Lord Reed winced.

“Lyanna named him Aegon.” 

You frowned, anger coursing through you. How dare she? How dare your sister name her bastard the same name as Rhaegar’s trueborn son? You were sad at her passing, but the more you learned about what she’d done, the angrier you became. “Please explain to Ned what I’ve done. Tell him I will send a raven once I’ve reached Dorne. I do not wish to have contact with him until then.” At Lord Reed’s questioning glance, you sighed heavily. “His part in this war has angered me greatly. I need some time before I am able to speak to him rationally.” 

Lord Reed nodded, and proceeded to escort you the rest of the way to the docks. When you reached them, you saw Ser Barristan, and quickly asked him which ship Elia was on. As he pointed it out to you, you curtsied to the men quickly, before rushing to the gangplank.

Elia was standing on the deck, and as she saw you approach, she rushed to meet you. When she saw the child in your arms, her confusion only grew, but you begged her to allow the ship to leave before you explained.

***

“What is going on? Why did you come with me? And where did the babe come from?”

Elia had been patient, explaining to the captain the change in circumstances, and waiting until nightfall to interrogate you. But now that the two of you were alone, with Rhaenys, Aegon, and Lyanna’s babe sleeping next door, she wanted answers. 

“They wanted me to marry Robert, Elia. I couldn’t marry him, I refused.” Elia nodded in understanding. She wouldn’t want to be married to him either. “As for the babe? I’m so sorry, but he’s Lyanna’s son.” 

Elia looked confused for a moment before she realized what you meant. Gasping, she threw her hands over her mouth, shock in her eyes. “H–He’s… he’s Rhaegar’s son, isn’t he?” You nodded, and she let out a small sob. “I–I never thought…” 

“I didn’t think either of them capable of it either, Elia. I’m _so_ sorry. I’m going to raise him as my son, as my own bastard.” 

Elia shook her head frantically. “No! No, you can’t! That will ruin you, I know how they view bastards in Westeros. Your honor–” You smiled sadly. 

“My honor will be besmirched any day now, Elia,” you told her softly, grasping her wrist and bringing her hand to rest against your stomach. “I will raise Lyanna’s son as my own, as a twin to my own bastard, and no one will know the difference. Besides,” You watched as her eyes widened when she felt your babe kick. “Mine own babe’s father is in Dorne.” 

It took her a moment to realize what you had said, but you could tell when she did. She gasped loudly, eyes flying between your own and your stomach, before she swore. “Oh seven _hells_ ,” she groaned, and you laughed softly. “It’s my brother’s, isn’t it? It’s Oberyn’s.” When you nodded, she groaned again. “I should have _known_ , especially when you wrote about being sick! Oh, I’m going to kill that man!” 

“Please don’t!” You replied, laughing. “I rather like him, as it turns out.” You blushed as Elia smirked at you. 

“I should force him to marry you,” she replied, looking at you critically. “I’d rather like having a sister, and it’s the honorable thing for him to do.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t care about marriage. So long as he is willing to love his son or daughter, I will be happy,” you paused, thinking for a moment. “I do not expect him to love Lyanna’s babe, but as long as he respects my decision to raise him as my own, I think I can live with that.”

Elia looked pensieve. “I think he will be willing to overlook the babe’s parents. And if he doesn’t, well I can always smack him around.” The two of you laughed, giggling on the bed like a pair of young maidens, and everything was right with the world, just for a moment. “What will you name him? Lyanna’s son, I mean?” 

You looked at her thoughtfully. “Jon. Jon Snow will be his name.”

***

You had hoped to arrive in Dorne before you gave birth, but the gods had other plans. Your water had broken one night, and Elia had called for the maester immediately. She’d stayed by your side the entire night, and after you gave birth, she was the one who handed your daughter to you. You looked down at her, and you could already tell that she was a perfect blend of your features and Oberyn’s. Her little eyes were scrunched shut, but when you held her against your breast, she latched on, clearly hungry. You had decided that you wanted to nurse your babe early on in your pregnancy, and when Jon had come into your life, you decided to nurse him as well. 

As your daughter gently suckled at your breast, Elia came over, carrying Jon. You looked up at her, tired and sweaty, but overjoyed to finally be holding your daughter in your arms. 

“What will you name her?” 

You barely even had to think, as you had picked a name moons prior, and looking at your daughter, you knew it was perfect. “Sarella. Sarella Snow.” Elia cooed softly, stroking the soft hair on her head as she drank from your breast.

“A beautiful name. But are you sure she should be a Snow and not a Sand?” 

You shook your head. “I want her to have a connection to the North, no matter how small. She is my daughter, and I am still a direwolf of House Stark, no matter where I reside.” Elia nodded in agreement, taking Sarella from you as she finished feeding, placing both babes on the bed next to you.

“We’ll be arriving in Dorne in a few days. I sent a letter ahead to Doran and Oberyn, so they know to meet us, but they do not know you are with me.” You looked at Elia, and she continued. “I figured my brother does not know of his daughter, and I assumed you wanted to be the one to tell him.”

You nodded. “Indeed. Thank you, Elia.” She left to allow you to get some rest, and you closed your eyes, knowing that your children were safe next to you.

***

You stood on the deck of the ship, watching as Sunspear came into view. Elia had come to get you a few minutes prior, telling you that you would be docking soon. You held both your children in your arms, Elia held Aegon, and Rhaenys stood between the two of you. As you got closer to shore, you could feel your pulse beginning to speed up, especially when you noticed the two Princes of Dorne standing on the docks, awaiting your arrival.

Elia lay a hand upon your arm. “Are you nervous?”

You laughed shakily. “Of course. I’d be mad if I wasn’t, I should think.” Elia squeezed your arm gently, and you smiled at her, thankful. 

You could tell the minute Oberyn recognized you on board. You were close enough to see him physically react, grasping at his brother’s arm. You smiled, hoping he could see. You watched him as the ship pulled into port, gasping when he didn’t wait for the gangplank, instead he jumped, grabbing onto the ladder on the side of the ship. You stepped back, watching as he rose over the side of the ship, jumping over the railing and striding towards you, only to fall short as he realized what you were holding. 

He stood in front of you staring intently at the babes in your arms, before his eyes raised to yours, the question clear. You took a small step forward, face deadly serious as you watched his reactions to your words. “This,” you said, gesturing as best you could, “is your daughter, Sarella.” You allowed him to slowly take Sarella from you, watching as he looked down at her, an expression of adoration clear on his features. 

“And this,” you continued, drawing his eyes to the other babe in your arms. “Is my son, Jon.” You could tell he was confused, and you took a deep breath. “He is mine, in name and heart, and even partially in blood. My twin may have given him life, but he is _mine_ son, and I will not allow anyone to take him from me.” 

You waited with bated breath, for Oberyn’s reaction. You watched the emotions flicker across his face, confusion, understanding, then anger, and finally, acceptance. He raised Sarella up, pressing his lips against her forehead, before striding towards you, his hand not currently holding your daughter coming up to rest against Jon’s back, looking down at him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s forehead as well, and tears sprang to your eyes. 

Oberyn looked at you intently, and you couldn’t look away. 

“I think you must be confused, my love,” he began, his voice soft. “This is _our_ son, Jon. He is _our_ son, in name and heart and blood. You have given me two beautiful children, my shewolf. And I would take you for my wife, if you’ll have me.”

You gasped softly, somehow surprised, despite Elia’s reassurances that Oberyn would not reject you or Jon. Nodding, you smiled at your prince, the father of your children, and as he pressed his lips against yours, you felt peace for the first time in a long time.


End file.
